


Taste

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-08 20:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18630967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: The ways in which the Squip altered Jeremy's sense of taste.





	1. Toothpaste

Jeremy can't deal with the taste of mint after everything with the Squip. Brushing his teeth makes him gag, but he’s got this idea in his head of maybe kissing Christine, so he copes. The issue is that brushing his teeth makes him gag _a lot_ , but that's just how how things are. Comfort is a thing to be earned by overcoming obstacles, and he isn't there yet. 

He stays up till 4 AM one night, ‘cause he can't go to sleep until he's brushed his teeth, but he also can't rev himself up to do it. It's a matter of pushing himself out of bed, spreading a toothbrush thick with panic-gel, shoving it in his mouth, and taking it like a man for just a few freaking minutes. If Jeremy can't do that, then what business does he have doing anything? The house is quiet, except for his dad's footsteps around the laundry room, and the soft whir of the washing machine. Jeremy isn't the only one awake, and that's fine. Stupid o’clock in the morning is a reasonable time to be doing chores. It's a reasonable time to be having a small existential crises over dental hygiene. 

Jeremy’s alarm goes off at 6:30, and he still hasn't slept. He's scrolled through all of Tumblr and Reddit, reading threads and posts, occasionally finding one that brought joy or interest, but mostly just stagnating. He trudges to the bathroom, allowing habit to guide him. He wets his toothbrush, and squeezes the paste onto it. He lets it hover in front of his mouth, hand shaking. He rinses the brush off, and returns it to the holder. He can't. Not today.

At school, Jeremy makes sure to cover his mouth with his hand when he talks. He doesn't get too close to people. Michael wants to know what's up. 

“I bet there are other kinds of toothpaste,” Michael says, once Jeremy confesses. “You don't have to use mint. Gimme your phone.” 

Jeremy does. 

“Tons of toothpaste flavors!” Michael announces a few seconds later. “Cupcake. Pine. Bacon. Wasabi! Fuck yeah!” 

Jeremy grimaces. Wasabi, insofar as he's had it, makes his nose sting. Bacon’s an obvious no, and cupcake sounds like something a little kid would use. 

“Pine could work.” 

“Hold up. Also found lavender, eggplant, fruit, and green tea. There are tasting videos. This is legit cool.” 

_Legit cool_ isn't how Jeremy would define his newfound inability to brush his teeth, but Michael gets that way over a lot of things that Jeremy would rather not have happen. About eight times out of ten he used to take Rich’s homophobic bullying as a form of rambunctious validation. He’d laughed at it. At least it makes Michael an easy person to turn to for help. He hardly ever freaks out the way Jeremy does. 

Jeremy explains the situation to his dad after school— like, he tells him how the Squip tasted like wintergreen and now anything minty fresh sends his heart rate through the roof and low key makes him want to yank his tongue out of his throat and burn it. His dad can relate. He got food poisoning after eating Indian food once, and now he can't stand the smell of curry. Sounds to him like Jeremy’s going through something similar to that. Of course he’ll support him. 

Armed with his dad’s credit card, Jeremy orders himself a tube of pine flavored toothpaste, and a tube of green tea. He’s about to check out, when he goes back and adds the wasabi toothpaste to his cart. He can give it to Michael. He chooses next day delivery, and pays up. The next day, Jeremy stays home from school, and waits for the mail to come so he can solve his problem. Everything is okay once it arrives. The pine toothpaste works for Jeremy. Technical issue resolved.


	2. Chapter 2

Taste was a thing that came up, back when Jeremy’s Squip was running full force. The Squip wanted Jeremy to eat healthy— something which Jeremy was a fan of in theory, but not good at in practice. It wasn't that he hated all healthy foods. He was just specific about what he would and wouldn't eat. Or, to use the Squip's words, his ‘palate hadn't matured since the age of five’. Jeremy could eat sliced apples. He liked broccoli on pizza. Salad greens with ranch dressing were totally doable. It wasn't enough. 

The Squip made Jeremy fix himself a snack of carrots and peanut butter, which Jeremy did, lost in a state of near blissful obedience, where he wasn't entirely sure if he was controlling his movements or the Squip was. All he knew was that things were pure, easy, and mechanical, and he was totally in the zone, which was to say, his mind was blank. He'd been getting that way a lot. It was sort of like getting stoned, but colder, and infinitely more productive. 

Jeremy got as far as putting the carrot in his mouth, before remembering that he hated carrots, and spitting it out. Shit. He tensed, waiting for an electrical shock that didn't come. Instead, the Squip raised his eyebrows, as though Jeremy was a dumb but amusing child. 

**We can fix this.**

_Sorry._

Jeremy’s tongue began to tingle and itch. He put his hand up to his mouth. 

**I am recalibrating your tastebuds. The sensation may feel strange, but it should be relatively painless.**

Jeremy sneezed. 

**Recalibration fifteen percent complete.**

Maybe the situation was painless, but it still sucked out loud. Jeremy rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but it didn't help. He caught a flash of red outside the kitchen window, then a flash of yellow, green, blue, star-studded black…

 _What?_

**You are in considerable distress. I am producing novel visual stimuli to distract you. Watch it.**

“Novel” in this case was just another word for trippy as hell, but Jeremy did focus on it. There were swirling colors and shining stars that started in the windows, and then spread out into the kitchen, slowly forming into a vision of Christine, Chloe, Jenna, Brooke, Jake, Michael, and Rich — all of them dressed in plush carrot costumes, with only their arms, legs, and faces showing. They sang a catchy song listing off every health benefit of eating carrots, then faded away. When it was over, Jeremy found that he was standing on the top of the kitchen table, with his arms stretched towards the sky, and a smile on his face. Blinking, he scrambled to get down. His tongue felt normal again. The rest of him, not so much. 

**Nonsense. You’re very lucky, Jeremy. There are billions of people who are better than you, and don't get to experience the world as you experience it. Eat your carrots.**

Jeremy picked up a carrot, and paused. He looked up at the Squip, unsure of whether he was searching for verification or comfort. 

**Go on, Jeremy! You’ll enjoy this. I promise.**

A part of Jeremy wanted to, but it felt almost cannibalistic, after the whole dancing carrots with the faces of his friends thing. As if on cue, said friends appeared in a circle around the table, no longer dressed as carrots. 

“Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!” they chanted. As Jeremy took the first bite, they burst into rapturous cheers and applause. The carrot itself was delicious. In a blindfolded taste test, Jeremy would probably still be able to identify it for what it was, but the big difference was that it was _good_ — at least as good as pizza, or donuts, or blue raspberry slushies, or any of the other crap Jeremy had spent his whole life shoving into his body. Quickly, Jeremy took another bite, and then another. 

**Slow down. You’re not a starving dog.**

Jeremy’s face heated up. He forced himself to chew. It was hard. This was weird. 

_What’d you do to me?_

**I recalibrated your tastebuds. We’ve been over this.**

That was true. They'd been over this. That didn't stop Jeremy from having questions. 

**You’re overthinking this. Most people would be overjoyed at this point. I begin to suspect you have some kind of anxiety disorder.**

_Can you recalibrate that too?_

**The simple solution would be to listen to me and accept my judgement, since yours is obviously defective.**

Jeremy’s throat tightened. He got up slowly to get a glass of water, eyes on the Squip the whole time, to see if it would stop him or offer further direction. 

_If you’re able to change my taste, can you change other stuff too? Thoughts? Emotions?_

**Emotions are created by chemicals and electrical impulses in the brain, which I can control to a certain degree. However, it is more effective to train you to feel and react in the correct way, than it is to manually control your systems at all times. Any attempt at the latter would present a drain on your physical resources. How are you feeling right now?**

_Tired. Kinda confused._

**Exactly! That's because I've created significant physical and psychological changes to your base programming. I think we can both agree that teaching you how to behave correctly on your own is the better solution.**

Jeremy nodded. He was standing at the sink, holding a glass. What was it he wanted to do here, anyway? He put the cup on the counter, and went to sit down. He ate another carrot. 

_Could you change my emotions, to make me feel shitty about things or people I used to like?_

**Is that a request?**

_No!_

**I would require your permission. For some subjects, it would be impossible. I could not, for example, make you hate your mother.**

_But I do hate my mother._

**Incorrect. You’re thirsty. You should drink water.**

Jeremy got up, poured himself a glass of water, and gulped it down. He waited for the Squip to give him further instructions, but it seemed preoccupied with examining its nails. The action was simultaneously very human, and eerily reminiscent of the rotating gestures of a video game NPC.  
_I didn't give you permission to make me like carrots._

**You did. Shall I replay the interaction?**

_You don't have—_

Before Jeremy could finish his thought, he was overcome by dizziness. In reverse, he saw the water he'd just drunk leaving his mouth and returning to the cup. He saw himself walk backwards over to the table, and sit down. He saw the carrots he'd just eaten leave his mouth and return to the plate. He saw himself on the table, enacting a backwards version of the choreography for the carrot song. It stopped. Jeremy gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, like he was riding out a storm, and expected to be tossed into the sea at any moment. The other Jeremy, the one he was watching, looked up at the Squip. 

“You can reconfigure my tastebuds?” said other Jeremy. 

**I can.**. 

“That's so cool! Let's do this.” 

**Very well. You should not experience any pain, but the sensation may be strange.**

Other Jeremy grinned, more at ease than Jeremy had ever felt in his life. “Sounds good. Bring it on.” 

As the scene dispersed, Jeremy let go of the counter to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. His stomach was doing somersaults. The Squip put a hand on his shoulder. 

**You have had enough for now. Go to your room and lie down.**


	3. Chapter 3

The squad does Jenna’s birthday party potluck style. After the debacle at Halloween, they want something quieter. Something wholesomer. Something they can liken to a garden party thrown by a gaggle of middle-aged suburban soccer moms. They spend twenty minutes at lunch picking out their Soccer-Mom-Sonas (Jeremy’s is named Helen, and is in possession of a minivan). They arrange to do the thing at Jenna’s place on a Saturday afternoon, and they each agree to bring something cool. 

Rich shows up with half a bottle of gin that he lifted from his dad, and a troubling comment about how he’ll have to pay for it later. Chloe brings wine coolers and her illustrious self. Jake brings a family sized box of Captain Crunch, two six packs of beer, and a bag of Lays. Michael donates enough pot to go around, and a rancid, yellowing bottle of Crystal Pepsi.

Jeremy surveys the table, and holds tight to his knock-off Tupperware container, hiding the his offering from view. Maybe he got the wrong idea. It's only when Christine arrives and sets a bowl full of cranberry walnut chicken salad and a plate of bread down on the table that Jeremy feels confident enough to put down the slightly burnt sugar cookies he'd made the night before, after an hour on the Internet searching for idiot proof recipes. 

Brooke brings a vegetable platter. Jeremy sucks in a breath, and looks away from the table, fixing his gaze on where Christine and Michael are seated side by side. He can ignore the food. He can pay attention to his friends instead. Christine is explaining to Michael that she's never smoked and doesn't want to because of her vocal cords, and Michael is gamely showing her a list cheesey of ‘ways to say no’ that he found on the internet years ago. 

“Cannabis is crap, you cretin!” Christine reads aloud, giggling. 

“That was good,” Michael says. “Do another.” 

“Back off, bucko. You’re bad!” 

Jeremy scoots his chair closer to them, back to the table. “He showed me the same list before the first time we smoked together,” Jeremy says. “To be sure he wasn't influencing me.”

“Okay, but you know I'm really not going to do it, right?” Christine asks, more serious now. 

“Totally,” Michael says. “You gotta make your own choice about that kinda stuff. Full respect.”

Rich pulls his chair up to join them, brandishing the gin bottle, which he passes to Jeremy, who sniffs it before handing it over to Christine, who hands it to Michael, who hands it back to Rich. 

“Case in point,” Michael says, as Rich takes a swig. 

“Which one of you suckers smells like Pine-Sol?” Rich asks. 

Jeremy covers his mouth. 

“I mean… it's cool,” Rich hastens to add, clapping Jeremy’s shoulder. “Outdoorsy. Like a lumberjack. Everyone knows lumberjacks are sexy. Right Christine?” 

Jeremy hides his face. He's got that hot prickly feeling, but he's also smiling. An odd mix. 

The party continues, and Jeremy relaxes. Although everyone in the Squad has sworn to have each other's backs, a lot of times at events like this, they tend to naturally split off into two groups — one consisting of Jeremy, Christine, and Michael, and the other consisting of Chloe, Brooke, and Jake, with Rich and Jenna bouncing between the two. Jeremy’s okay with the arrangement. Christine and Michael are his favorite people to be close to, and knowing that he can surround himself with them while still having connections that extend beyond them is the best feeling imaginable. It's like, he's sitting with Michael and Christine, listening to them talk, but then Jenna comes over to take a selfie with them, and it's perfect. Later, he's showing Michael and Christine this dog gif he saw online, and Jake wheels over, tells him to cup his hands, and pours a handful of Captain Crunch into them, and it's good. As the afternoon winds down, Rich and Jake take turns daring each other to try Michael’s crystal Pepsi. They make themselves sick off it, but in a fun way. 

Jeremy’s happy. Things are nice and fine and great. He's also being ridiculous. Why is it that here, safe with his friends, and fully in command of his own mind, he can't even look in the direction of the food? It's like the carrots on Brooke’d vegetable platter are burning into his back with their spiteful laser eyes, only that's ridiculous. Carrots don't have eyes, and even if they did, there wouldn't be lasers in them. Besides, on the off chance that the carrots did somehow gain laser eyes and a taste for vengeance, Jeremy would still be stronger than them. That's what Jeremy’s been working towards— being stronger than the voices in his head, being able to function over and above their constant dull roar. 

Jeremy is stronger than carrots. 

He's _stronger_ than carrots! 

“Jeremy?” Michael waves a hand in front of Jeremy’s face. “You with us, bud?” 

“Um…” Jeremy licks his lip. Maybe he should try a carrot, just to see if they taste bad or good. It'd be such a relief if they could just taste bad. If they taste bad, everything will be okay. 

“Jeremy?”

“Yeah? I mean… y-yeah. Hi. Just thinking.” 

“Uh-huh.” Michael sounds doubtful. 

Christine elbows Jeremy. “What’re are you thinking about?” she asks in a kind of sing song— deliberately cute, and deliberately not too heavy. 

“Whether or not I want to eat some carrots from the vegetable platter,” Jeremy says. There's no risk in confessing that much. It doesn't sound anywhere near as dire as it feels. 

“Oh,” says Christine. “You want me to grab some snacks, or…?” 

“No!” 

Christine’s eyes widen. Michael puts a hand on Jeremy’s arm. 

“Later, maybe,” Jeremy says. “I'm saving room for cake. Who brings healthy food to a party anyway?” 

—————-

Jeremy waits two days to put his latent carrot issues to the test. He buys himself a bag of baby carrots at the supermarket, and hides them under his cardigan during the walk home. They're just carrots, but they feel contraband, as if Jeremy robbed a liquor store, and he's trying to escape detection. 

He gets to his room, and tears open the bag. He shoves the first carrot into his mouth. 

Delicious. 

Jeremy’s eyes well up. Perfect. At least he's alone. At least nobody else needs to know that he's borderline crying as he robotically shoves carrots into his mouth.

Carrot number two. These things are really good. 

Carrot number three. Maybe Jeremy should eat them until he pops.  
Carrot number four. Jeremy doesn't actually _like_ carrots. 

Carrot number five. Thinking something tastes good isn't the same as liking it. 

Six. Jeremy is a person. 

Seven. Jeremy has a choice! 

Eight. Jeremy shoves the bag off his lap and onto the floor. A few of the carrots roll out, scattering. Jeremy gets up, goes to the bathroom, and spits the half chewed carrot bits from his mouth, into the toilet. He brushes his teeth with pine flavored toothpaste. 

Jeremy is in charge of what he does and doesn’t like. Jeremy hates carrots.


End file.
